


Stranger Cures

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 19:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19933285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: “You know the weirdest things sometimes.”





	Stranger Cures

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are mine. Concrit is always appreciated! This is what happens when I pay too much attention to certain Tumblr posts...

In retrospect, it wasn’t clear how Wyatt’s hiccups began.

The team had moved into temporary quarters in the middle of the forest that morning, in preparation to extract their latest mission target in thirty-six hours. But pre-mission anxiety wasn’t new.

They were required to limit alcohol intake on duty, so overindulgence hadn’t been a factor either.

Maybe it had been excess water in his ear that irritated his eardrum when he showered after his morning workout. Or the burning sludge that passed for coffee that he drank at breakfast.

He never did nail down the exact cause.

It was clear, though, that after they’d arrived at their temporary digs, the damn things weren’t going away any time soon. Wyatt’s usual go-to remedies didn’t do anything, either, to his surprise and growing impatience. Eventually he decided that maybe if he refused to pay attention to his spasming diaphragm and glottal outbursts, the hiccups would go away on their own.

But by early afternoon, when Wyatt, Mac, and Novin were supposed to survey and recon the mansion property for the extraction, the hiccups still hadn’t dissipated. Wyatt suited up anyway, figuring he could control them once in the field; but then he let go an especially forceful one that caused even Mac to wince.

Mac paused in the middle of lacing his boots, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Jesus Christ. You still have those?”

“They don’t seem to want to stop,” Wyatt admitted. “Don’t know why.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t go on recon like that, mate. Tangos will hear you a mile away.”

“I can hiccup in silence,” Wyatt protested. The very next hiccup, however, made Chetri jump and look up from her laptop screen where she was reviewing remote surveillance footage from mansion security cameras.

Mac shook his head. “Not like that, you’re not. You’re grounded. Chetri, gear up, you’re on point today. Wyatt, you’ll coordinate tactical from here.”

“Oh come on, McAllister – ”

“That’s an order, Sergeant.” Mac had been appointed team leader for this mission. After they took down Pavel Kuragin in Azerbaijan, and Wyatt re-upped his service, Coltrane had decreed that Mac, Wyatt, and Novin would rotate in the post.

Novin didn’t even look up from the table where she’d been cleaning and checking her rifle and ammo. “He’s right, dickhead, don’t push it,” she advised.

Chetri donned her flak vest and grabbed her sidearm, avoiding Wyatt’s glare. Wyatt shook his head, checking himself. This wasn’t her fault, not at all; it wasn’t fair to take it out on her. He reached out and brushed her arm as she walked past to join Mac.

“Careful out there, Chetters,” he said by way of apology.

“Always,” she replied.

Mac, Novin, and Chetri left the shack on foot for the two mile hike to the mansion. Wyatt sat down at the computer and donned the comms earpiece. He hated being Bravo Zero, but he was military first. When they arrived on site about thirty minutes later, he dutifully monitored the cameras, advising the team of the best angles of approach and paths to take into the grounds and up to the complex.

The recon mission appeared to be a success, however, so no worries there. While the team made their way back, Wyatt busied himself with other preparations: heating up rations for dinner, double-counting supplies, and confirming the condition of their ammo and C4. So he didn’t expect Novin to burst through the screen door, followed by Mac supporting Chetri, who was bleeding through an improvised bandage on her arm.

“What the hell happened?”

“Tangos engaged us about halfway back,” Novin said. “Took ‘em down, but one tagged Chetri first.”

“Shit. Do they know we’re here?” Wyatt was already retrieving the medical kit.

“Weren’t followed and we took the long way round.”

In the meantime, Mac set Chetri down in Wyatt’s chair. Wyatt gently removed the bandage to inspect the wound.

“Looks like a surface graze,” he pronounced between hiccups. Chetri grimaced in pain. “Hey, don’t worry, you’ll live. How bad does it hurt?”

“Not too much, sir. It’s bearable.”

After a minute, he finished probing her arm. “Shouldn’t even need stitches,” he said. “Just three or four butterflies.”

“I can do that, Wyatt,” Novin said. “You’re in the middle of stuff.”

Wyatt sighed and changed places with Novin, who began to clean Chetri’s arm. He checked the progress of the rations, then moved to join Mac at the other end of the table.

“You okay, Big Mac?”

Arms folded across his chest, Mac half-shrugged, watching Novin apply the butterfly stitches to close Chetri’s wound. “Could be worse.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt sighed. “You know that should be me, Mac,” he added quietly, failing to suppress a surge of guilt. “She’s our comms person. She had no business being out there.”

Mac shook his head. “Good thing it wasn’t,” he replied after a moment; his gaze was sober when he turned to face Wyatt. “Chetters just got grazed. You woulda lost your arm.”

Wyatt paused at the tone in Mac’s voice. Given the height and size difference between himself and Chetri, he realized that the bullet probably would’ve shattered his humerus. Holy shit. “Looks like I owe you a big one, Chetters,” he said, humbled.

She looked up. “I’ll be sure to collect on it.”

“You do that.” Wyatt looked at Mac again, who stared at him with a rather unsettling, tense look. Wyatt wasn’t sure why it caught his attention; Mac’s gaze roved over his face as if he’d half-expected not to see Wyatt again. There was relief in those dark eyes, sure, but something else, too, something deeper that Wyatt couldn’t quite identify; but its intensity sent a small shiver down his spine.

“Am I smelling ORPs heating?” Novin called from the table, as she finished taping a more permanent waterproof dressing over Chetri’s tricep. “Cos I’m starving here.”

Wyatt hiccuped, and one side of Mac’s mouth twitched upwards, breaking the spell. Wyatt pressed the notch between his ribs. “Yeah. A couple more minutes.”

“Thanks, mate.”

He doled out the heated dinner packets, and while they ate, Chetri sent their evening sit rep to Coltrane back at their headquarters. She duly reported her own injury, but tactfully left out Wyatt’s hiccups, which to his growing apprehension were still going strong. He found himself leaving the room so the sound wouldn’t carry over the comms.

This was embarrassing enough. That’s all he needed, for Coltrane to start asking.

He’d never, ever had hiccups last so long in his life. By now, almost twelve hours had passed since he’d first noticed them. Another round of remedies was in order. He tried standing on his head, which was unsuccessful; then pinching his nose and blowing when he sensed a spasm coming on. That only earned him a couple of good ear pops.

Shit. Now he was really concerned.

Novin stuck her head into the room he and Mac shared. “Hey, dickhead. Team meeting right now.”

Wyatt sighed and joined the rest of the group at the table in the main room. Mac had pulled up visuals of their earlier recon; with them all gathered around the screen, he started to finalize the extraction plan, circling the entry and exit points as well as the most likely locations of expected tangos.

“We clear on all this?” he said at the end. There were three nods of agreement.

“Chetri, you’ll be running comms back here. Unless …” Mac looked pointedly at Wyatt. “You gonna be action-ready by twenty-two hundred tomorrow?”

At that Wyatt looked up, to let loose the loudest, hardest hiccup yet. The others stared at him, mouths agape; he was actually feeling miserable now under their scrutiny. “I don’t know,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Mac shook his head. “I need a yes or no, mate.”

And at that Wyatt snapped. “I don’t know what to tell you!” he shouted.

Novin patted his arm. “Calm down, Wyatt, we’re just doing our jobs – ”

“I’ve been trying to stop them all fucking day.” Wyatt counted on his fingers. “I’ve tried drinking water. I’ve tried it upside down, and I’ve tried it from the back of the glass. I’ve tried the peanut butter trick, I’ve held my breath more times than I can count until I almost passed out, I’ve tried the paper bag trick. Several times. Doesn’t even slow them down.” Wyatt sank into an empty chair.

Mac leaned, arms crossed, against the back wall of the room. “Have you tried getting off?” Mac asked.

The whole room fell into a stunned silence for a moment. “Man, what the fuck?” Wyatt said, once he realized Mac actually meant it. “You’re not serious?”

“Does that even work?” Novin said in disbelief. At everyone’s glare, she clarified, “No, really, I’ve never heard of that one.”

“Neither have I,” Wyatt said.

Chetri said nothing, only looking thoughtful, and began to type. Mac looked at each of them, the expression on his face unreadable. “Yeah, sure. Intense stimulation of the vagus nerve resets electrical impulses to the diaphragm. Best way’s an orgasm.”

Novin shook her head. “You know the weirdest things sometimes, Mac.”

Wyatt wondered if Mac might have been just pulling his leg, but he usually wasn’t one for joking. “Yeah, okay, I’ll play along,” Wyatt said, “I’ll assume you’re right for now. So who’s going to sleep with me?”

Another, more embarrassed silence descended, and everyone avoided Wyatt’s increasingly challenging gaze. Novin was first to recover. “You know I love ya, dickhead, but not like that,” she said, gently for her. “Not a chance.”

Across the table, when Chetri finally looked up from her laptop screen, her cheeks were beet red, but she also met Wyatt’s eyes evenly. “No offence, sir, but I’d rather be tagged again.” She touched her bandaged tricep. “Sorry.”

“Wow,” Wyatt said, followed by another hiccup. Wyatt then turned to stare at Mac, who looked not a little flustered by his sudden attention.

“Me? You think I’m gonna volunteer – ?”

“You suggested it!” Wyatt sniped, and hiccuped again. Ow, that one hurt. He pressed his ribs.

“You’ve got a working right hand, yeah?” Mac sounded more than a little tetchy.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Wyatt said. “When I’m in my hour of need – ”

“Stuff it, arsehole.”

“What, so I’m all on my own here? I thought we were all a team.” He shook his head ruefully and added, “I am truly disappointed in you all.”

Novin rolled her eyes. “Fucking drama queen,” she muttered under her breath.

“What was that, short stuff?” Wyatt retorted.

“Nothing.” She looked at Chetri at the laptop. “What about – wait, aren’t there drugs or something?” she asked.

“Chlorpromazine, Reglan, baclofen, anticonvulsants, they’re all known to work,” Chetri replied, reading from the screen.

“See, what did I tell you?” Wyatt said, feeling a keen sense of vindication. “Teamwork solves everything.”

“But none of them are in our med kit,” Chetri added.

The victory grin dropped from Wyatt’s face. “Can we at least get some in?”

She shook her head. “The Colonel won’t authorize a supply drop now, sir, not while there’s ongoing enemy activity in the area this close to us.”

“Well, fuck me.” Wyatt paced a bit, his torso jerking with each spasm. “How long will these last til they subside on their own?”

“Dunno,” Mac said. “They’re called ‘persistent’ after forty-eight hours, and ‘intractable’ after thirty days.”

“Forty-eight _hours_? Thirty _days_?” By Wyatt’s reckoning, it had already been twelve hours too long. “You call that _helpful_?”

“The record is sixty-eight years,” Chetri said. Boggled, Wyatt glared at her; at least she had the grace to look contrite. “Sorry, sir,” she added, “you probably didn’t need to know that.”

Mac shrugged, palms up. “Don’t know what to tell you, mate.”

Wyatt squeezed his eyes shut against another hic. “I can’t wait that long. Mission’s set for midnight tomorrow. Can’t call it off, it’s all hands on deck. You’ll need me out there.”

“Yeah, I don’t think ‘sorry, Colonel, we had to cancel the exfil cos Wyatt got hiccups everyone can hear two towns over’ is gonna fly,” Novin said.

“Exactly.” Wyatt gestured gratefully at her.

“You know, I could punch you in the solar plexus,” Novin offered. “Ya think the shock might reset the muscle?”

“That could make it even worse,” Mac said. “Last thing he needs is a ruptured diaphragm.”

Wyatt lost the last remnant of his fraying patience. “You know what? You all suck as much as this does,” he said, not bothering to attempt to silence the next hiccup. “Screw this. I’m going for a walk.”

“Stay close to the perimeter,” Mac reminded him.

“Whatever,” Wyatt muttered. He stalked outside, wishing there was a door to slam behind him rather than the flimsy screen door that floated in the wind. He tried to ignore the poorly-suppressed tittering and splutters of mirth inside the shack.

Wyatt supposed it was funny, at least for the rest of the team. To be fair, he saw the humour too, but not when it stood to interfere with the mission. And he still should’ve been out with Mac this afternoon on recon, not Chetri.

He looked up at the sky above, at the narrowest sliver of waning gibbous moon. The new moon started tomorrow, with full cloud, providing the perfect cover of darkness for their silent raid. Emphasis on silent.

He had to be ready to fight tomorrow. He had to be rested. He tried holding his breath again, gulping in another big swallow of air just as he felt the oncoming spasm. It seemed to work – for all of ten seconds. It didn’t get any better after he repeated it twice more.

He only barely resisted the urge to punch the nearest tree. “Fuck,” he swore under his breath. None of the usual remedies worked, they had no drugs – was he really going to take Mac’s advice to jerk off? Literally?

What was there left at this point?

A ring of old-growth cypress surrounded their shack; Wyatt headed to the furthest tree that was out of range of their motion detectors, but still within the perimeter. He leaned against the ridged trunk and cupped himself through his jeans.

It was complete darkness and no one could see, so why did he feel so self-conscious about it?

He unzipped his jeans and slid his hand inside. He tried to conjure one of his more reliable fantasies, that night behind the football bleachers with his girlfriend in senior year. But he couldn’t get ten seconds into it without one of those fucking glottal spasms startling him back into himself, over and over.

And because he couldn’t get in the mood, Little Wyatt stubbornly refused to come out to play. After several attempts and what felt like several hours, he gave up and trudged back to the shack.

No one else was around when he slipped back inside. Probably all in bed, as he should be too. He half-heartedly ate a sachet of raw sugar and tried another dose of peanut butter, almost gagging on the glue-like consistency; nothing. He only ended up spilling the glass of water down his shirt when he tried drinking it backwards.

Dejected, Wyatt headed to his sleeping quarters off the main room. If sleep was impossible tonight, he could at least try to rest and hope that maybe the hiccups would eventually sort themselves out. Soft breathing from the quarters opposite confirmed that Novin and Chetri were asleep. Wyatt could just see the outline of Mac on his cot from the entrance to their space; he sank down onto the edge of his own cot and removed his boots. He stretched out on the mattress, still fully dressed, and closed his eyes.

He thought Mac was asleep too, by the sound of his breathing, so he jumped when Mac addressed him.

“Any luck?”

Sometimes a good scare was enough. Wyatt counted, five, ten, fifteen seconds before he answered. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, however, another dreaded hiccup escaped. Fuck.

“Nope.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Wyatt appreciated the quiet concern in Mac’s voice. “Yeah. I’ll try to keep it down but let me know if I’m disturbing you.”

Wyatt heard a soft, almost resigned exhale from Mac’s bed. Maybe he should just bunk down in the main room the rest of the night. But after a moment, he heard the cot springs squeak as Mac rose, followed by two creaks of wood as he crossed the floor. His mattress dipped on the edge as Mac sat beside him.

Mac laid a warm, broad hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “Will you trust me?” Mac said.

Wyatt drew in a quick, deep breath against an oncoming spasm and held it in, but it didn’t succeed, and he expelled it in frustration. “I just want this to stop, man,” he said, not bothering to hide his exhaustion now. “I don’t care how anymore.”

“Okay,” Mac replied, just as hushed. “Okay.” He rested his other hand against Wyatt’s hip.

So this was actually gonna happen, Wyatt thought sourly. He couldn’t even get himself off to save his life; reduced to depending on Mac, of all people, to do it for him. It’d be hilarious if it weren’t also pathetic as shit. The only saving grace was that it was almost pitch-black in their quarters, so he wouldn’t have to see what Mac was doing.

Mac slid his hand over his hip to the front of Wyatt’s jeans, his palm pressing down briefly before he unfastened the top button of the fly. The zipper whished open; Mac let go of Wyatt’s shoulder to grasp the waistband with both hands. Wyatt obediently lifted his ass to allow Mac to tug the denim down to his ankles. Wyatt kicked them the rest of the way off, along with his socks.

Wyatt still wore his boxer briefs. He couldn’t help but tremble at the touch of Mac’s hands again, over the brushed cotton just under his navel at the top of the treasure trail. He’d always, always been sensitive there. He could feel himself sink into the mattress, his limbs heavy against the sheets beneath. He sighed, almost not even minding the hiccup.

“All right there?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Wyatt said.

Was Mac actually gonna be a talker through this? He sometimes liked chatty partners. But he rather hoped not right now; to be frank, he was still dealing with his injured pride. He really didn’t want to be reminded of any of it.

But then again, was this actually sex, he wondered. He knew of helping hands, exchanging furtive pulls in dark corners when loneliness got a bit much on extended patrols. Not that he’d partaken himself, but he’d understood the urge.

Part of that understanding was that whatever they were doing, it wasn’t sex. Not really. So it didn’t count.

Mac cupped Wyatt through his underwear, fondling his sac with gentle, even practised, rolls. Wyatt wouldn’t call it arousing yet, but it sure as hell made him feel more relaxed. Even with the hiccups still jerking around his muscles, he could almost, almost set them aside.

He’d bet good money that Mac had lent a helping hand more than once. Given how he seemed to know his way around a dick that wasn’t his own, and hell, he’d outright offered to do it.

Mac soon changed his focus to coaxing Little Wyatt out. It was so much easier now that Wyatt wasn’t trying to deal with it by himself; he felt the blood surge in his groin, his dick twitch and rise until the head rubbed against the cotton of his boxer briefs. Wyatt sighed again at the pleasant friction; yeah, here we go.

He felt a tug of elastic around his hips, and slightly calloused fingertips pulling his briefs down, skating across his lower abs just above his pubic hair. He wriggled enough for Mac to ease the fabric off his erection and slide the underwear down and off. The cool air played over his heated skin downstairs; he reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, spreading it open to expose his chest, though he didn’t remove it. Even in the dark, that little bit of shyness lingered; Wyatt could keep up the helping hand facade if he were still at least partially dressed.

Then Mac wrapped his fingers around Wyatt’s shaft. Wyatt angled up into Mac’s curled palm, seeking more contact. The hiccups hadn’t gone away, but they were more like an afterthought now. Mac adjusted his grip, sliding up and down, until he hit Wyatt’s sweet spot and Wyatt began to thrust eagerly into his fist.

A part of Wyatt wished he could see the expressions on Mac’s face, but was mainly glad he couldn’t. Another part of him – hell, pretty much all of him – was terrified at what he might find. He sensed that this was going well beyond just “helping” as he knew it. From how Mac’s breath sped up once or twice, Wyatt was pretty sure that Mac enjoyed touching him –

It kind of explained some things, Wyatt thought with sudden clarity.

Nothing glaringly obvious; subtle details, small gestures, passing glances and half-smiles directed at him, built up over the months and years of their acquaintance. Like what had happened earlier today, too. Signals that could be easily missed; hell, that Wyatt had missed, over and over, attributing them only to Mac’s expression of friendship when he occasionally reflected on them.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it yet. Tonight, however, he was glad Mac had persisted in his patience. It kindled an answering warmth within Wyatt.

The pleasure began to coil at the base of his spine. The hiccups however, climbed upwards in strength and loudness again to distract Wyatt from the delicious sensations growing in his dick and inner thighs. Oh come on, he begged his body silently. This wasn’t funny anymore. If indeed it ever had been.

Worse, Mac had noticed too. Frustrated, Wyatt tried to increase the pace. But after a string of hiccups that lasted well over a minute non-stop, Wyatt stilled his hips. Mac slowed down until only his thumb rolled over the head of his dick.

“Wyatt?”

“This isn’t gonna work, Mac,” he said, defeated. His erection began to dwindle. “Fuck.” He slammed his head back against his pillow; another hiccup reared up, and another. “Goddammit.”

Mac didn’t reply; instead, to Wyatt’s surprise, he drew in and expelled a shaky breath. As if he was deciding something, Wyatt thought. He tried to peer through the gloom, wondering what was going on, because Mac hadn’t let go of him, either. He could make out only the outline of Mac’s face.

“Will you continue to trust me?” Mac murmured at length.

Wyatt blinked, confused by the sudden gravity in his voice. “I trust you with my life, Mac,” he replied between spasms. That was a no-brainer. He had to, in this line of work. Mac had already saved him countless times, as he’d saved Mac. What could Mac possibly do to make him doubt Mac’s judgment?

Mac didn’t answer; but after a short pause he shifted position on the cot, leaning over. Wyatt quickly noted warm puffs of breath hovering over his groin.

Oh?

His eyes widened; _oh_. He raised himself on his elbows, just about to speak –

Mac took him into the tight, wet heat of his mouth.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Wyatt gasped, and collapsed back onto the mattress. White-hot pleasure raced along his nerves from his core to the very edges of his skin and he was rock-hard in an instant. Mac hollowed his cheeks in, his tongue licking along his shaft, drawing exquisite suction towards the head.

And there was no mistaking the sheer pleasure in Mac’s low hum around him, either.

Need sparked so intense that Wyatt’s body crackled with it. He reached down to brace Mac’s head as Mac slid his lips rhythmically along his shaft, up over the tip and back again, until he’d engulfed him to the root. Wyatt bit his lip to keep from crying out and waking Novin and Chetri in the next room.

He’d been chasing this feeling since earlier tonight and he wasn’t going to jinx it. “God, McAllister, do that again,” Wyatt gasped, not caring that he was begging. Mac smirked around his dick and rolled his balls lightly in reply.

“You prick,” Wyatt gritted between his teeth. “You fucking tease.” Mac only huffed in amusement.

Mac went down on Wyatt again, tongue swirling just under the head this time. One finger caressed the delicate skin behind his balls, creeping higher and higher towards his ass with each slide of Mac’s lips. Wyatt clapped his hand to his mouth to try to suppress his cries. His toes curled – hell, his whole lower body ignited in sheer pleasure. The only thing that could possibly quench it was Mac continuing to work him just like this.

Within minutes, the pressure of impending orgasm roared up from his groin. “Mac, I’m gonna – ”

He couldn’t finish, because Mac pressed right _there_ , and Wyatt groaned low in his throat with the force of his release. Wyatt bucked over and over with each jet of utter bliss, head jerking side to side with each pulse until he was panting and spent.

He sank back into the mattress, completely sated. _Holy fuck_. He hadn’t climaxed like that in awhile. And Mac – Mac had hung on, drawing every bit of his orgasm from him until the aftershocks faded.

Soon enough, too soon, Mac released him, wiped his mouth with his arm, and rested his forehead on Wyatt’s thigh for a moment, his hand draped lightly just below his navel. As Wyatt’s heartbeat and breathing slowed, they both waited for the next hiccup to announce itself.

To Wyatt’s delighted relief, none was forthcoming.

Well, I’ll be damned, Wyatt thought. That mind-blowing orgasm did the trick just as Mac had promised. He shook his head. “Finally,” he said, with a satisfied sigh, “about fucking time.”

“Worked, did it?” Mac said, half muffled against his thigh.

“Like a dream.”

“Good.” At that he sat up, and the cot springs protested. “Right then.” Already Mac was retreating back into himself, brisk and distant.

All at once Wyatt understood that if he didn’t act right now, he’d lose this connection, and Mac with it. Mac had just revealed everything he felt, risked everything he had. He wouldn’t allow another chance to be close to him like this again.

Wyatt knew more than anyone how trust had to go both ways. Impulsively he reached out and seized Mac’s elbow. “Stay with me, Mac,” he said, shifting over on the cot to make room.

He could hear Mac’s eyebrow raise in his bewilderment. “Come again, mate?”

He felt Mac’s whole body freeze in hesitation. “I said, stay here with me, McAllister,” he repeated, trying to sound as open and welcoming as he could. “Just for a bit.”

He thought Mac might refuse, but slowly, slowly, the cot dipped, and Mac stretched out on his side beside him. Wyatt shifted on his side too, for easier access. He silently gave thanks for the near-darkness of their quarters; so much easier to reach out and drag his fingers along Mac’s throat and collarbone, up along the pulse line to his jaw, discovering along the way how Mac was shirtless. Huh.

“Wyatt – _Sam_. You don’t have to – ” he began.

Wyatt couldn’t deny the little thrill that shivered through him at Mac’s use of his name. “Shut up, Mac,” Wyatt said fondly, cutting him off. He slipped his hand around to the nape of Mac’s neck and pulled him in. “Trust me,” he murmured, a hair’s breadth away from Mac’s lips.

Their mouths met, soft and tentative. Wyatt tasted himself on Mac’s lips; he licked along their closed border, probing gently but insistently until they parted to allow Wyatt inside. After that the kiss grew long, and deep, punctuated by low hums of increasing hunger, enough for Wyatt to feel another tingle of arousal.

No, this was about Mac now, he reminded himself. Wyatt switched hands, still cupping his neck, letting the other one trail down Mac’s chest and over his trembling abs. He stopped at the waistband of a pair of boxers. He slid further down the cotton to cup Mac, to discover he was hard, the head of his dick slick with pre-come and breaching the fly of his shorts. Probably had been like this since they started, given how Mac arched into Wyatt’s palm at the touch.

Warmth, and a sense of disbelieving wonder, flooded through Wyatt again at that thought. Who could have guessed that something as asinine as a stubborn case of hiccups would land them here? Wyatt wrapped his hand around Mac and stroked, his hand on Mac’s dick matching the rhythm of his tongue. After what seemed only a minute or so of increasingly desperate thrusts, Mac stilled and shuddered on the brink, clutching his shoulders.

One more deep, claiming kiss, and Mac moaned into his mouth as he spurted into Wyatt’s fist.

Wyatt kissed Mac through his climax, revelling in how Mac dug in his fingers as he came, as if Wyatt were the only thing he had to cling to. Of course I trust you with my life, Mac, Wyatt thought with a rush of tenderness. Like this was going to change anything.

As far as Wyatt was concerned, it could only add to what they already had built together. If Mac would have it.

When it was over, Wyatt broke the kiss, wiped his hand on one of his shirttails, and pressed their foreheads together.

“Why’d you do that?” Mac asked after a long moment, breaking the increasingly awkward silence.

Wyatt tried not to wince at the note of doubt in his voice. Instead, he laid his hand on Mac’s cheek, fingers carding through the curls at his temples while he mulled it over. What he said now would either set them firmly on this new path together, or drive Mac away for good. Multiple reasons, justifications and excuses, jumbled in his mind. The one that escaped, though, was the utter truth.

“Because I wanted to.”

That was the right answer. The tension bled away, and he felt Mac’s face crack into a slow, genuine smile. “Dickhead,” Mac said.

“Asshole.” Wyatt grinned just as widely in return.

Mac kissed Wyatt, slow and sweet. Wyatt let himself succumb to the softness of his lips, the warmth of his arms, until they pulled back for air.

“You know we’re gonna have to talk about what this means,” Wyatt added.

“S’pose we will, yeah,” Mac agreed. “Right now?” He then tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn.

“Tomorrow,” Wyatt clarified, ending with a yawn of his own, and his hand dropped to his side. “It’s too fucking late right now.”

“Too right.” Mac rose on one elbow, about to climb off to return to his own bed, but Wyatt stayed his arm.

“There’s room here,” he offered.

Mac snorted, but settled back down beside him. Okay, so maybe there wasn’t as much room as Wyatt thought, they were actually crowded together on the narrow cot, but to Wyatt, the fit was perfect. He hoped he’d never have to endure another round of those fucking hiccups again in his life – but secretly, right now, he was glad that he did.


End file.
